Victor took a long sip of wine. Then: “You secured the runway. Use it well.”
That was it. The highest praise she’d heard all night. No congratulations. No back-patting. Just the next expectation.
Elena turned to Bea. “How was your first London experience?”
“It probably would’ve overwhelmed me before,” Bea said honestly, “but not after eighteen months in the UR.”
“Eighteen months here will prepare you for many things,” Victor agreed. “Do you see yourself there?”
She felt Gage stiffen beside her. His shoulders tightened, as if his father had spoken out of turn.
“Bea hasn’t decided yet,” he said, calm.
“Of course not,” Elena smoothed. “But she must have had an impression.”
Bea chose her words carefully. “It reminded me how far I’ve come—and how far I still have to go.”
His parents both seemed to turn that response over in their minds.
Dessert arrived, a dark chocolate tart with edible gold leaf.
“May I ask…how the two of you met?” Bea ventured.
Evidently surprised by that turn in conversation, Elena’s eyebrows rose a fraction. She set down her wineglass. “Victor and I were both at a finance conference in Austria. Everyone else tried to impress me. He corrected me.” She smiled faintly. “It was profoundly irritating. But also, memorable.”
“Memorable enough that you married him,” Bea surmised, unable to keep her lips from curving up at the corners.
Elena’s mouth moved into the closest semblance of an earnest smile Bea had ever witnessed on her. “Yes. He offered something better than charm: purpose. A future bigger than either of us.”
“Let’s not pretend charm played no part,” Victor said dryly, as he set down his cutlery.
“So…it wasn’t just romantic?” Bea wondered.
“Not in the fairytale sense. But it was deeply chosen,” Elena said.
Victor’s gaze rested on Bea. “I knew the life that awaited would demand everything, not just from me, but from the woman beside me.”
“He didn’t ask for less,” Elena added. “But he never gave less, either.”
Bea peered toward Gage. He was watching her, listening like the words belonged to him, too. And maybe they did.
He was his father’s son. His birthright defined him. He would ask for everything, but not without offering everything in return.
Elena lifted her napkin. “Shall we call for tea and coffee?”
They drifted into lighter conversation but it stayed de rigueur, cordial, and never chaotic. This wasn’t a table for teasing or touch. It was elegance, at rest.
When the plates were finally cleared, Victor stood. “My apologies, I have a call. Thank you for your company tonight, Bea.” He brushed a kiss to Elena’s temple before disappearing into the hallway.
Elena turned to Bea. “I hope you come again.”
“I’d like that,” Bea said, and meant it.
Elena rose. “I’ll leave you two to your evening.”
And then it was just her and Gage.
“Do you want to see my old room?”
